


A Lacquered Red Box

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: Epistolary, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:38:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How is a heart like a jigsaw puzzle?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lacquered Red Box

_Kingsleigh Estate Auction Catalog on this Day the 23rd of April in the year 1918_

pg. 73

_Lacquered Red Box with Gold Leaf Detailing_  
Traced to the Ownership of Alice Kingsleigh, the First Woman to Explore the Orient.  
Documents found within the box are auctioned separately (pg, 86). The box is  
a mint condition example of Huang Dynasty artwork. The decorative theme  
is a classical depiction of women taking water from the Yangtze River. A  
must have for any collector of Oriental articles. 

pg. 86

_Documents in the Hand of the Famous Alice Kingsleigh, her Chinese ward Zemin and an Unknown Citizen_  
These historic documents were located in the box described on pg. 73  
-One Journal bound in blue leather, some yellowing of pages. Being the  
diary of Alice Kingsleigh on her great expedition, written in letter form  
to an unknown citizen referred to herein as Tarrant.  
-Letters in unaddressed envelopes written on sheepskin tied together with  
a blue ribbon from Tarrant to Alice Kingsleigh using an unknown dating system.  
-One Journal bound in an unknown hide written in Mandarin Chinese by Zemin Kingsleigh.  
The date of this document is unknown.  
Scholars are welcome to examine this property on appointment by contacting  
the Estate Office. 

**25 April 1918  
Law Offices of Jones, Smith and Moffit**

The office door creaked open under my fingers. Solicitors' offices tend to have distinct smell and this one was no exception. A musty, papery scent that settled into the fabric of the staid crushed velvet sofa in the waiting room.

"May I help you, sir?" A discreet young man inquired from the doorway. He was staring, but I've grown used to that.

"Yes, I wish to speak to the person in charge of the Kingsleigh Estate Auction."

"Do you have an appointment?" He asked, clearly inferring that I couldn't possibly.

"No." I smiled at him. "But I rather think he'd better talk to me anyway. I wouldn't like things to get...complicated."

The discreet young man took a small step backward.

"I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. Moffit is a very busy man."

Ah, Moffit. I increased my smile by another notch.

"I'm sure Mr. Moffit can take one moment out from his very busy day to talk to me. Here's my card." I settled it into the palm of his hand with a gentle pat. "Go on then."

The sofa was exactly as uncomfortable as it looked. Luckily I didn't have to sit on it long. The young man reappeared, now visibly flushed.

"He'll see you in his office now." He said, clearing his throat a few times. "Please. Follow me."

The office doors lined the corridor each with their gilded nameplate. Moffit's door was nearly at the end, but was distinctly not the head office. The young man abandoned me at the door. I went in without knocking. The office was typical enough. Large ponderous law books on the walls, imposing oak desk in the center with a squirelly little man behind the it.

"Dear god." Rasped Moffit. "It is you."

"I am the me that presents itself to you, yes." I slid into his guest chair, propping my feet on his desk. "Really Moffit, didn't anyone ever teach you to research the family tree before you go selling off its assets?"

"You're dead!" He protested, scrambling away from me. "Everyone knows that."

"Except for me, apparently. I remember meeting you once." I squinted at him. "Didn't like you much then either."

"What do you want?" Some of his lawerly courage was returning clearly. "You've no right to the estate."

"I don't want that moldering old house, you imbecile." I bestowed my best, toothiest grin. "I want the box and everything you found in it."

I left within the hour, box in hand. I descended into the underground and I must admit, dear reader, that my fingers trembled as I held it. The colors had not the least faded. When I reached my temporary rooms, it was all I could not to rip the fragile papers inside in my desire to get at them. Her journal I read alternating with his letters. It made a kind of give and take though I know neither saw the others writings for many years.

~*~

11 April 1836

Dear Tarrant,

Margaret has given me this journal to keep notes for my letter writing. She most likely intended that for her and my mother, but as I have every intention of only telling them exactly what I shall be writing in my journal for Lord Ascot. Instead, I will use it to hold strongly to my promise to not forget you. When I write to my family, I will also write a letter to you. Someday, I will return to Underland and this will be my present to you. 

So many things have happened since I last saw nearly a year ago. How does time pass in Underland? It seems to me no matter how long I spend there I return only moments later. Yet, fifteen years passed between my first visit and my last and equable amount of time had passed for you. It troubles me to think on this too long. I will let it pass for the moment.

I am leaving this week on a voyage that will take me to the Middle East, a walking tour across Arabian holdings then to meet with another boat that travels all the way to Hong Kong. As an apprentice to the Company, I will go with an exploration team to the Yangtze river to find a suitable outpost. If we can set up posts of trade there, the exotic goods of China will flow easily to Shanghai, then Hong Kong and back to England. It is possible that my new boots will walk in places no other European has ever gone. In some ways, it is better than Underland because other people will believe me when I tell them about it!

Lord Ascot has assembled a team of young scientists for the journey. There has been some scandal about the idea of myself traveling without some old dowager aunt to watch over my virtue. Yet, it has been difficult to find anyone to fill that role. Apparently lady chaperones aren't interested in exploring. I had to point out, finally, that anyone offended by my going without a guard would probably be offended by my going a'tall so why fuss about it? There was a lot of bluster from Mother and Margaret, but in the end, it was clear I wasn't to be swayed. They both feel that no respectable man will marry now. To which I say, who cares? Marriage is not conducive to business for a woman.

Anyway, the team. There's the head of the expedition, Sir Nigel Townsend. He's a botanist with the largest teeth I've ever seen. He is also quite kind and inclined to listen to me, which is important. Even though I'm only an apprentice, I will be representing Lord Ascot's business interests. Sir Townsend is more interested in plants. There's Sir Maxwell Cowley, our mapmaker, who is very short and squinty. His maps, however, are beautiful and he has traveled a great many places. Then there's Sir Alexander Moffit, a tall gruff figure, who calls himself a natural scientist. This seems to mean he likes to shoot animals and stuff them. His goal for the expedition is to return with two dozen of these 'samples'. I don't like it, but he has a lot of money and is funding much of the expedition.

There are a few other staff and we'll have to acquire a guide once we arrive, but for now that is the whole of it. I call them the Sirs in my head because none of them have allowed me the use of their Christian names yet. It will be awfully stupid if I still have to say Sir this and that when we are roughing in under the stars.

I must go, there is so much to do!

Remembering You,  
Alice

 

Omponculous Day. Year of the Cabbage on Wing.

Dear Alice,  
I have already written you several letters, but the Queen doesn't like finding scratch marks on her trees. I tried to tell her that trees are the best gossips and they'd bring my words to you the fastest. Instead, she gave me a pot of many colored ink and a quill. I tried writing on porcelain, but the ink ran. I had to give up and commit to sheepskins. It's rather rough on the sheep, but when they die I can fold up my letters to you and send them into the wind for safe keeping.

I wanted to tell you something. Many things. One thing. I'm not sure I recall what, really. Only that I wanted to say I miss you. It's been a month. When will you be back?  
Regarding you,  
the Hatter

 

15 May 1836

Dear Tarrant,

I saw Absolem yesterday as a beautiful butterfly. I felt that was a good omen for the beginning of a voyage and so it has been so far. The waters are calm and everyone is quite kind to me. We spend our mornings making plans. Sir Cowley is teaching me what Chinese he knows. It's not very much, but it's better than nothing. The characters are intricate and done with thick brush instead of a quill. It reminds me of painting more than writing.

The sailors are treating me like a young lady and are very solicitous. It's kind, but I do hope they stop soon. It makes me feel rather empty headed and not like a businesswoman and explorer. Even the Sirs slip into calling me things like 'little lady' and spelling things over my head as if I were a two year old. It's really most embarrassing for everyone involved. I constantly remind them that I have both ears and a brain and that the two work together rather nicely.

I remember how you challenged me to be more that I was and hold onto that. My muchness grows apace.

Remembering you,  
Alice

 

Yomsplutty Day. Year of the Cabbage on Wing.

Dear Alice,

My quill is slippery today and I've dreamed of toads. Do you think that means something? The Queen had us move our tea party and the Hare's battered house to just outside the castle. The view is lovely though pink petals do drift into our cups and make Melly's nose twitch. It has been two months since the Bloody Red Queen was sent into exile. It's all any of us have wanted for years and days.

Yet, the quiet is so very quiet. What do you do when the fight is won? I asked the the Queen and she smiled and patted my hand and talked about the sun. The days here are less overcast now and we need to set up umbrellas for her so she does not burn. It is summer here. Maybe that's why my quill is slippery.

I made a hat for you, a pretty bonnet. I tore it up. It wasn't your style anyway, perhaps a coif?

Regarding You,  
the Hatter

 

20 June 1836

Dear Tarrant,

We spent a few days walking across the desert and I could not write you. I was too tired and slept as soon as the sun slipped away. Did you know that in the desert it grows freezing cold at night? Sir Townsend says it's because the ground holds no heat. That makes sense. During the day it is unbelievably hot. The heat starts to feel like an extra person in the party, who complains too much and makes everyone stop too often. The Sirs kept taking samples, except for Moffit who prays for some exotic animal to shoot. None have arrived.

Tomorrow we will reach port and take the next ship to Hong Kong. When we return, we will go the long way by ship around the coast of Africa! I long to see it, but we all desirous to get to China as quickly as possible.

The tribes here don't like women running about, so the Sirs have let me dress as a boy. Pants are very freeing! I think I shan't give them up now that I have them. Who in China will care if I'm wearing a dress or corset? Their women, I'm told, wear beautiful silk clothing that closes like a robe. I'll draw you sketches of whatever I see. Perhaps they will have different kinds of hats. I would so like to give you a new design. Imagine me in my pants and you in your kilt. What a funny pair we'll make!

Sir Cowley has taught me every Chinese word he knows and says I will have to get a better tutor when I get to Hong Kong. He is the best of the Sirs. Now instead of language lessons, he tells me stories of the places he has traveled and mapped. I thought for sure that being so short and stout that he would not make it on our long hike through the desert. How wrong I was! While Moffit and even Townsend had to take several breaks, Cowley plowed on with the camels.

Oh! I nearly forgot to tell you about the camels. I have drawn you a sketch, but it really doesn't capture how interesting they are in person. They smell awful and have terrible tempers, but they have long sweet eyelashes and if they like you are not nearly as much trouble as they could be. Sometimes they re-chew their dinner like cows. Their humps are not very comfortable for riding, but horses drink too much water for long desert walks.

Remembering you,  
Alice

 

Sevens Day. Year of the Cabbage on Wing.

Dear Alice,

The coif didn't work either. Melly is using it to line her teapot. Perhaps a panama? 

I'm unsure of my sureness. I think I see you, then no, in the clouds. I have got myself working, but my fingers know their trade too well and go about their way without my mind. That has too much time to wander. Melly sleeps, Hare cooks and I sit by myself for tea more times than not. Sometimes the other courtiers join me, but I'm not sure that I like them much. There is something false in their step if not in their noses, you know? They seem to laugh behind there hands. You wouldn't do that, I think. You would laugh out in the open and honestly. 

The sun has grown hotter and I take my solitary tea under one of the Queen's umbrellas. Otherwise I wind up redder than a herring. The salve the Queen makes for burns smells like rotting apples, I don't recommend it.

Bayard's pups are visiting me right now. They were mediocre company when I waited in the jail cell. I think they will make good friends once they learn to talk entirely.

Regarding You,  
the Hatter

 

1 September 1836

Dear Tarrant,

Hong Kong at last! We arrived this morning to the largest port we have seen so far. It's grander and messier than anything back in England. We had to disembark very slowly because of the press of the crowd. I was distracted by all the new smells and bright colors until the most amazing thing happened.

I didn't tell you because I did not want to worry you, but since that first day I haven't seen Absolem. Butterflies do not live long up here and I worried that his new life was already over. Here is the amazing thing! I was searching the crowd, when a young Chinese boy appeared next to me. He looked like any other of the children lined up on the shore selling their goods, except for his eyes. They were a brilliant bright blue instead of the usual brown.

"Ni hao." I said, which is hello in Chinese. Then pointed to my chest and said, "Alice."

"Ni hao, Alice." He said back. "I Zemin. I teach you Chinese?"

It has to be Absolem! I was looking for just such a tutor and it is only too lucky to find one so quickly. I hired him on the spot much to the Sirs general disgruntlement. Well, they can find their own tutor! They may not learn the language at all, especially Moffit who thinks everyone should learn English for his benefit. Sir Cowley told me that Zemin is probably the son of an English sailor left behind with his Chinese mistress. I think he meant to see if I would blush, but I daresay I have no blushes left! I don't care if his father was English, Chinese or Underlandish (Underlandese? What do you call yourself? Or are their countries as there are here? I don't believe there are, but I never did get a chance to ask. Now that I think on it, there are subtle accents and different kinds of people). I think it's wonderful that we've found each other and already we are fast friends.

I'm writing you this letter in my room in the Company's outpost. From my window I can watch the ships come in. Though we have traveled so far away from home, I feel close to it somehow. Perhaps writing these letters keeps everything fresh in my mind and not so far away. The tea here is strong and dark. I think you would like it.

We will spend a week provisioning ourselves and then it's off to the mainland. I have to keep my composure in front of the Sirs, but Tarrant, I am so excited! Though the idea occurred to me only this past summer, I feel as though I have been waiting my entire life for this journey.

Remembering You,  
Alice

 

Atributiliation Day. Year of the Cabbage on Wing.

Dearest Alice,

There is something wrong in Underland. The sun burns over the land and scorches the grass. The moon seems never to rise. The Oraculum has been consulted and I have been chosen to go talk to the moon. Cheshire accompanies me and Melly, of course, will not be left behind. It is possible that before we reach the moon, the whole of Underland will catch fire and burn.

I cannot allow that to happen. Not after you saved us from another such fate at the risk of your own life. The quill is singed even as I write. I do not know how to talk, how to tell, how to convey, it is all a misery, a farce, the sky is falling and the world is burning (illegible)

I'm fine.

This may be my last letter and I'm not sure where to send it. The sheep is still alive. Maybe it will walk the message to you.

Dear girl, come back to us as soon as you can. We need your strength. I need your hand on my arm.

With the Greatest Affection,  
the Hatter

 

23 December 1836

Dearest Tarrant,

It does not feel like Christmas here. Aside from myself and the Sirs, there probably isn't another Christian around for hundreds of miles. Sir Cowley made me a small tree from bamboo which was very sweet. I have slept poorly this week and at first I thought it was because I was homesick, but now I am not so sure. For the first time since we set out on this journey, my dreams are plagued. I thought the return of my memories when I last saw you might have erased them. Now they are back with a vengeance. I fall, I run, I cannot find anyone who will speak to me in a way I understand. There is a new fear now. I cannot find you. When I wake, I assure myself that you are safe. Mirana watches over you, of course, and Melly and McTwist and Chess. I am more alone then you and in a strange country, not my own comfortable table.

And yet.

Zemin tells me that I talk in my sleep. When I asked him what I said, he could not tell me. He has taught me a lot of Chinese and in return, I improve his English, but there are still many words that we lack between each other. It is very frustrating when one of us cannot make ourselves clear, but we always try again. The Sirs hate that Zemin sleeps in my tent. He is a good guard and very solicitous of me, I don't see why they fuss so. Better him than one of them, I think. 

We have made great strides into the village we are currently residing in. It is very rural and even Zemin has trouble with their odd dialect, but they have fine tea plants here. Sometimes they pluck the leaves when they are very young and make a very light tea. It doesn't have enough taste for me and I would use up our entire provision of sugar to make it palatable. The people here consider it quite healthy.

There is another plant that has caught Sir Townshed's interest. It's a tiny sprig of a thing and the locals call in Ginshuu. He has already taken to calling in Ginsing and has called it such in his book. It annoys me so when they rename things. Even if you don't like the Chinese name, many Arabs have traded here for centuries and they too have their own names for the plants and people. It is a proliferation of names for an object that stays the same. Do you know about Shakespeare? Probably not. Anyway, he once said ' A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.' and I agree. Even if it was only meant on a joke about Marlow's (his rival) theater, The Rose which stank from sewage. It's a true statement in any case.

I am told we are getting closer to the Yangtze. Already, I have drawn up blueprints for the kind of building I want at our new trade point. It will not be too English like the Company's post in Hong Kong. It sticks out like sore thumb, looming over everything. Instead, I want to have something in stone, but the same shape as the local houses. I love the elegant slopes and the bamboo rugs. The farmers wear wonderful broad flat hats. I've drawn a sketch and I can already imagine what color your version might be. Here they are all beige from the reeds they are made with. I'd like to see one in purple with pink ribbons.

Please be safe.

With love,  
Alice

 

Integrem Day. Year of the Musket Rat.

My Dear Alice,

Though the handwriting is tiny, this is still my letter. Melly has taken up my quill and writes as I talk. Our quest was a long and hard one. I hardly know where to begin. Melly suggests that I start at the end and work my way backwards, but then I'll forget the middle. Underland has not burned though bits are still singed. We walked along the path to the Red Queen's castle. It's over run now by flamingos, monkeys, pigs, toads, dogs and hedgehogs. They've reclaimed, stripping off all the comfortable pretty things and polishing the floors so they can have skidding races in their pajamas.

They helped us find the path to the highest mountain in Underland. I'm not sure you ever saw it's proud peaks while you were here, they lie beyond most of the more civilized parts of Underland. We had to stop and make warmer clothing for me. Chess needed none, skipping in and out of reality as he did. And Melly slept in my hair for most of the trip. I had to use all sorts of nasty things as insulation. Do you know how hard it is to make a coat out of yandlatch leaves? Especially when it isn't yet cold, but blistering hot, but you can see snow and the seasons are melting like rainbows into a pot much needed-

(Hullo Alice! Hatter has fallen asleep. This is just me Melly. It was quite warm under Hatter's hat and I think I slept through the worst of the trip. I doubt he'll tell you, but he was very brave the whole time. I rarely had to snap him out of one of his fits. Even Ches was impressed. No one else could have done what he had to, not even you I think. It needed a mad sort of brain. He misses you awfully, Alice. You best keep your promise about coming back or I'm not sure what will happen. In any case, his hands are all in bandages at the moment which is why he isn't writing. His feet and fingers got frostbitten up there talking to the moon. Mirena fixed him up right though. Mostly.)

Sorry! Must have drifted off. Where was I? Oh right! So we took the mountain road and wouldn't you know that at the top of the mountain there was a splendid huge tree all hung with firefly lights. We climbed up to the top and there was a little old man full of firefly lights sitting there and paring his nails. Apparently the man in the moon IS the moon! Amazing right? He wanted to retire, I guess all those years of going up and down had made him dizzy. He said now that the story was over, he could go to sleep.

I don't remember why he changed his mind. I was angry, I said some things. And he changed his mind. So our story isn't over yet. The moon is back and the sun goes away at night. It's still warmer than usual, but I think it'll take some time to get back to normal. 

When my fingers are nimble again, I'll make you a sleeping cap. Something with a tassel on the end. 

With the Greatest Affection,  
 ~~the Hatter~~ Tarrant  
and  
Melly

 

5 March 1837

Dear Tarrant,

Spring has come to South China! The fog is incredible, boiling up from underneath and makes the forests quite beautiful and green. Everything here is warm and muggy and the edges of my notebook have started to curl with it. We have finally found our village! It's called Huaihua and it's right on the banks of the Yangtze. They are still farmers here, but there are some artisans too. They use a special paint, lacquer, to make everything shine. They have silk here and more upriver that we can send down. I like the loose pants and shirts that the men wear and have taken it up. I even have Zemin braid my hair in one thick plait like they do. I probably look silly and the Sirs think I'm acculturating to fast. Yet, I feel wonderfully free and not at all Chinese. Anyway, we're supposed to be studying everything and what better way to study a culture than try to assimilate into it?

I've redesigned our company building. I want it to last here and that's why I thought of stone originally. I'd also like to blend in and brick buildings are not at all the thing in Huaihua. They put stone at the foundations with steps leading right into the river from their back doors! The rest they finish in wood with these lovely tiered roofs that much more graceful than our simple slanted ones at home. Max, that is Sir Cowley who finally let me call him by his Christian name, has looked over my blueprints. Neither of us are architects, of course, but we'll need something to sleep under as we plan to stay here for some time.

Right now, the plan is that we will stay here for a few months to oversee the building. Then some will return to Hong Kong to mail our reports home, wait for a response, then meet up back here. Of course, the Sirs want me to go back to Hong Kong, but this is my outpost. I won't abandon it for the sake of a hot bath and other creature comforts.

I love this place more than any other, except for Underland. Now that I can speak and write in their language, the people have taken to me. I work alongside them some days and they have told me about their great teacher Confucius. They follow his teachings and to them it is a bit like religion, but not quite. I don't really understand it all, but Max says it's a very sensible way of doing things. It makes Moffit red in the face with anger. He wants them all to be good Christians and thinks we shouldn't do business with them until they convert. It's like asking fish to fly! I told him we're here to make money and not to win converts and that if that's what he wanted, he should have funded a church expedition. That didn't go over very well. Perhaps he will get eaten by one of his wild animals and we can be rid of him entirely.

If I sound angry with him, it's because I am. This past week he tried to shoot a panda which the local people consider to be a very precious animal. It was the first time we'd seen one and this idiot is firing a weapon! I only caught a glimpse of it before it ran away. It had rather sad eyes. I think I prefer the camels. We have seen other new creatures and plants that have sent Sir Townshed into a tizzy of delight. I'm not very impressed. They're like English weeds with nice names. Nothing like the exotic things in Underland which really can cure just about anything.

My dreams are still uneasy. I think of you daily.

With love,  
Alice

 

Tentahouk Day. Year of the Musket Rat.

Dear Alice,

I write you as myself once more! Or I was myself through Melly and Melly was talking and I was talking and she changed my name at the end, not my name name, just my title for my name which is really not quite the same thing or is it? I suppose it could be if looked through the right way upway-

I'm fine.

My fingers are quick again though I haven't made you the promised hat. The fabrics are all wrong. Are you still growing? I do not know what size head you might have when you return. I'm sure whatever size it is, will be Alice sized as you know how annoying it is when you turn up wrong. Very inconvenient. I myself have not grown in some time and am the better for it.

Now that the danger is over and the weather is cool again, we are a little restless. The Queen proposed a carnival which sounds marvelous. Only. The last carnival was the one where- well. You took care of that really, so I don't know what's gotten into me. Only that carnivals don't seem so delightful anymore. McTwist is baking an extraordinary cake for the event. It's twenty-seven flavors including nostril. Which I don't believe is a flavor and if it is, not a very pleasant one. I haven't told him as yet. He's very proud of his cake.

There's a new woman, come from one of the villages to join the Queen's court. She's got the coloring all wrong with white eyebrows and black hair, but we all like her anyway. Her name is Dapple and she claims that her great grandfather was a horse. Well she does have the nose for it. But she is very clever and thinks I should expand my business to include costuming since I make such gay clothes for myself. At first I thought she was joking like everyone does, but it appears she's quite serious. I have decided to put hats on hold until I can make yours the way I want it. Until then, I shall try my hand at other things. Maybe it will sell better.

One of Bayard's pups, Binny has taken to following me around the castle. Melly thinks this is tremendous and rides him like a horse. I find it annoying. I think someone is behind this. Checking up on me. I don't like it in the least.

With Greatest Affection,  
Tarrant Hightopp

 

10 August 1837

Dearest Tarrant,

Townshed and Moffit sent word today from Hong Kong that a mail ship arrived from London while we were traveling here. Max and I received the bundle with much excitement. It is dreadfully hot here and I nearly cannot breath even in my airy costume. Anything works gladly as a distraction. Even Zemin got a letter! It seems one of the wives of the Company officers stationed in Hong Kong has taken a liking to my young translator and wrote him a little note so he wouldn't feel left out.

How strange it was to get these missives from home.

My sister and mother's letters are from last December. I looked back at my letters to you and I remember what a hard Christmas it was. I didn't want to tell you at the time, lest you worry ( I know, strange as you do not receive these letters, but I must maintain the illusion that you do or what is the point?), but the whole party had fallen quite ill with an unknown fever. It was lucky that no one died and as it was we nearly lost Max which would have been a devastating blow for me. He and Zemin have been my constant companions this last year. Without them, I fear I would have returned home long before now. The sickness hit me first and I recovered the fastest. I spent much of the holiday nursing the Sirs and Zemin. That's when Max allowed me his Christian name. As he said 'Once you have seen a man sweating in his shirtsleeves, it is foolishness to continue to call him sir anything'. I quite agree. Townshed and Moffit don't, despite that they wore far less than shirt sleeves when I wiped the sweat from their brows. 

It was a bit embarrassing. On the ship, I had seen some of the sailors without their shirts on, but only out of the corner of my eyes. When Townshed was in the height of fever, he ripped off his shirt and breeches. I accidentally saw the whole of him! How strange are men's bodies? A poor question, I suppose, since you possess one. Townshed does not have your grace and at that moment glistened with fever and sweat. I did not stare, do not think ill of me. It's embarrassing even to pen this, so I will continue in another vein.

Right now, I am sitting on a porch, the first completed part of my blueprints. Max, Zemin and I are building it mostly ourselves for now with only occasional help from the locals. They have shown us what building materials work and what don't. And in secret, we use the supplies we have brought with us: heavy iron nails, hammers and saws. The nails especially we must be careful of as they are sought after by all those that know the English are here. It is apparently a fascinating supply for them. Max claims that on less scrupulous expeditions to the islands south of China, sailors have used nails in exchange for favors from women! At first, I wasn't sure what favors he meant, but I have learned a lot since Townshed and Moffit went hieing back to Hong Kong. They are not here to mind my manners. Honestly, thought I do not like him, seeing Townshed body has provoked in me many questions.

Anyway, to my letters! The first and most thrilling is from my gossiping friends. They say that Hamish, my ex-nearly-fiance, has run off with a miller's daughter! Lady Ascot has apparently locked herself in her bedroom and will speak to no one. I'm surprised that Hamish had it in him. He was such a stodgy sort, but I suppose under every stuffed shirt passion can lurk. Whatever will he do with such a girl? He can barely indulge in the simple task of eating without succumbing to terrible pangs. Lord Ascot must have given him some allowance to provide for them or they would surely starve. I cannot imagine him working like an average person.

Margaret is pregnant again, which worries me awfully. She had such a hard time with the first baby and he's not even a year old! I think Lowell is cad for doing this to her again so soon. I think my mother even agrees, the way she writes I can tell she's upset. I love my sister dearly though we've never had much to say to each other. I think in her own way, she's very smart, but would rather hide it. When I was young she used to read such thick books! On all sorts of subjects from father's library. Sometimes I wish she could see things my way and was here with me. A sister would ease my loneliness some.

I'm not forgetting you, Tarrant, I promise. But it has been two years since I have seen your face and I find I cannot remember your hands as I would like. The color of the ribbon on your hat sometimes escapes me. Do I remember correctly how you looked at me? Did I imagine it? I was so young and unworldly and confused. Perhaps, I was wrong. Perhaps, in a time of great anxiety, I saw what I needed to see. You don't think on me as a sister do you? I pray I am not waiting on a dream.

With love,  
Alice

 

Blootum Day. Year of the Musket Rat.

Dear Alice,

Yesterday was the second anniversary of Frabjous day. A statue was unveiled on the spot where you slayed the Jabberwocky. They wanted to make a life sized version of you, but no one could agree on the details. Even people that were there. Marchie even insisted that you had rabbit ears though, he's mad, so who knows? Instead, the Queen settled on a very tasteful pillar and carved on it was the picture from the Oracumlum. I think you'd like it. I hope you would. I do not know your mind as I should or I shouldn't...

My clothes have been popular. Even the courtiers that like to dress in white to mimic the Queen have bought a flowery skirt or two. I like making these things and barely think about hats at all. Except yours of course. Maybe a fedora? I'd have to find a very good feather and the birds still haven't forgiven me for dress I made for the Queen for the anniversary celebration. I made it all out of stolen feathers, painted white. It had a very nice effect, even if the Queen did sneeze uncommonly much. Dapple said it was the thought that counted and maybe next year I could make something to the same idea with cloth. I told her that cloth didn't feather properly and she agreed very solemnly, even if everyone else laughed.

It's been two very long years, Alice. You promised to come back. You did. I heard you. I remember.

But maybe. While I wait. I'll have a bit of an idle with Dapple. It's been a long time and I am terribly lonely.

Forgive me.

Love,  
Tarrant 

 

23 December 1837

Dear Tarrant,

It's Christmas again, but who can tell? It's always warm here. Max says it's been good for my complexion, but I wouldn't know. They have no mirrors here and the river is too muddy for gazing. Besides, I hardly have time to look at myself. Lord Ascot's letter finally came! My plans are all approved and I am to look after them. It means at least another year here, building up our business. Townshed and Moffit are going all the way back to England with my sketches and some letters. I'll stay here with Max. It's easier now, we can boat down to Shanghai for a few days and meet with other Englishman and women if the fancy takes us. We have a small fleet of local boats, bringing all the goods we tend out into the world.

My dream unfolds and unfolds, building bilious clouds of fortune around me. I know not what I would do with all the gold I envision pouring into my father's old coffers. I have no interest in that really. I like opening up the world. I want everyone to know what it's like to travel somewhere far off and different. When I return I'll publish my papers and share my experiences with everyone. Except for what I keep in this particular notebook. This is mine and private. And yours. Someday, perhaps. If I am very brave.

I must confess when I sketched the outpost, I kept more private plans. I imagine a house, in the rolling hills between the white and red castles. Not far from a certain tea party. I imagine it will have many doors and even more windows of many shapes. Enough bedrooms for every one of our friends and a few more for the ones we've yet to make. I imagine that we will take tea in the kitchen when it's raining outside and you will tell me of the things you have seen while I was away. I hope you are happy, my dear. But I selfishly hope that you are not too happy. Even in my great joy here, it is tainted without you. Missing, lacking. I cannot but hope that it is the same for you.

Tonight, Max and I will dine at a table instead of on the porch, bare feet dangling in the river as we usually do. It will be Christmas briefly. A merry one to you, dear Hatter.

Love,  
Alice 

 

Veritum Day. Year of the Limping Raven.

Dear Alice,

I know not what to say. Dapple is a lovely woman, we lie together under the sun that no longer burns. We talk long hours and together we make beautiful things.

I have betrayed you. I write no more.

From,  
the Hatter 

 

29 March 1838

Dear Tarrant,

The structure of the outpost is complete! I have learned how to turn a joint and smooth wood with sandpaper until it is like silk under my hand. My fingers have strong callouses and my feet are like leather. I go without shoes more often than not with the weather generally so pleasant. My hair is nearly white with so much time in the sun and I'm all over with freckles.

My body is like that of a healthy animal. How did I spend so much time as an anemic shadow of myself? How do English women bare it? I can't really remember my comfortable bed in my parent's home. It all feels distant and strange. Here I sleep on a cushioned mat, rise with the sun and start the day's work. We cook rice in great quantities and eat it with thin bone chopsticks. Zemin laughed uproariously as Max and I tried to master the local mode of eating, but it had to be done. We bargained away our silverware for building materials.

That will be the last of our bartering our possession, I think. Business has begun to pick up. Shanghai does brisk trade with our little outpost and my experiment is a success. The Company will try to replicate it this summer, sending out a second team farther up river. Originally, I thought to go with them, but more and more I think of Huaihua as my home. I can't, in good conscience, continue to refer to this building as 'the outpost'. Instead, I must call it our home. Max and Zemin's and mine.

Is that cruel?

I keep the blueprints for our house, yours and mine, folded into the pages of my notebook. Once, I poured over them daily. Now I barely glance at them. More and more, this is only a journal to keep my thoughts. I write about the day to day doings of the house and forget to put your name at the start of the page. I have not forgotten you, but I cannot keep you constantly in my mind either. It is too hard and too strange. My six impossible things must be reserved for the world around me in this moment and not somewhere distant. This is my reality.

Max thinks the next time we see missionaries, which may be as early as this summer, that we two should get married. Already, he has cornered me in the kitchen more than once for a brief, courtly kiss. He's not a beautiful man, nor a mad one. Instead, he is steady as the rain and thoughtful and kind. He is not the man I would have had for myself three years ago, but then again, I was still a girl. Now I have travelled the world and lived a while. I can see the appeal of a steady, good man. Lately, I imagine myself thick with child like the women in the fields. I have talked with them about their bodies and oh! how happy and gravid they seem. If I lived still in England and had married Hamish, I would have had two or three children by now.

I don't regret my adventures, but I wonder if I can have both. The excitement and the family. The steady home and the journey. Max says he is willing to figure this out with me. Even if it means living in China forever, I think I would like that.

I am waking up to my body, Tarrant. The looks you gave me were to a girl with no real understanding. I know lust now. I know the heat of a lover's body pressed to mine. I can guess at the rest.

I wish, sometimes, that this first dance was with you. But my life is here now. I must live it to the fullest. Underland is utterly lost to me, except in Zemin's blue eyes and this notebook. I choose not to love a ghost.

Forgive me.  
Remembering you,  
Alice

 

Integrod Day. Year of the Limping Raven.

Dear Alice,

I cannot remember the smell of your hair, nor the color of your eyes. My senses, briefly, were filled with another and they have wiped clean all that remained. I think sometimes, that you were wrong and that it was I who dreamed you. Only dreams fade to tatters.

If I could have only a moment of you, I think I would feel better. Something solid under my hand would erase these years that now stand between us like walls.

I have a new riddle, how is the heart like a jigsaw puzzle?

The Queen, the queen might know, might share a secret, but I... how can I tell, how can I know that the answer is right for the riddle and for me?

There is a fury inside of me. I must end this note.

(illegible)

 

2 April 1838

My dearest Tarrant,

That dream. Oh! It was no dream. It cannot have been for it has changed me from the wet pulsings in my veins to the hardened skin of my feet. I woke this morning as a new person. If it was no dream, then you were there and need no recounting, but it must be said, must be written. I must never forget. Never again be weak in my resolve. How could I have thought that I would say yes to a marriage that would be only a shadow?

How did it begin? I can scarcely remember. I was tired early and excused myself from dinner to lay down. My eyes slid closed and I was no longer here. It was not like falling down the rabbit hole at all. One moment I was Earthbound, the next I was surrounded by Underland. It was unmistakable though I do not think it was a spot I had ever visited. The rockinghorseflies fluttered overhead, the moon a swaying sliver and the ground soft like a mattress under me. 

And you. You beside me. We stared at each other, unbelieving. Your eyes glowed green and I trembled. When we embraced, I was just the right height. I tucked my chin over your shoulder and hung on for dear life. Your suit was new and strained at the seams with the ferocity of your embrace. The skin of your neck brushed my lips, smooth and soft. How long your hair has grown! The color was more vivid than I remembered. You smelled like tea and a fresh summer day. When at last we pulled back and I could look at your dear face, I found it more pleasing than ever. How dear the gap in your teeth, how startling your bright eyes...

I always teased my sister for her flowery language about Lowell, but I understand it now. I would use a thousand adjectives, some in Chinese and still others in Underlandish if I thought it would better convey to you how handsome and right I found you.

I was tempted to talk to you for hours. Tell you of all my adventures and how mixed up I had become. How sorry I was that time had separated us. But before I could say a word, I had to kiss you. To wipe away the other lips that had touched mine. With Max, I enjoy kissing. My lips tingle pleasantly and it makes me long for other, darker, secretive things. But I always withdrew. The polite English maiden. My virginity is a shield.

With you I have no armor. You hesitated at first, then returned me kiss with a ferocity that nearly knocked me off my feet. There was nothing polite or gentlemanly about you. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears and all my consciousness was between our lips. The gap in your teeth scraped over my tongue. All those darker impulses flew to my mind and I was glad of the lessons I had learned at the feet of village women. I knew, within that first kiss, what I wanted to happen before I could be pulled away back to my slumbering body.

Did you know immediately what I had decided? It seemed that way. Your clever fingers ran circles over my body, possessive and sweeping. We fell into a heap on the grass, hands and mouths entangled. I spent some time exploring your left hand, kissing each fingertip, pleased that it possessed not one bandage. I kissed the scar that bisected your ring finger, the palm of your hand and finally your wrist. Always, I watched your face which was by turns bemused, lustful and terribly sad. I tried to kiss away the sadness. Did I succeed?

I peeled away your jacket first and then your ascot. I watched your pulse throb in your neck and kissed it. That seemed to wake you. There was a growl that must have come from your toes and I found myself flat on my back. You tore away at my shirt, lavishing the skin you revealed with kisses. A sharp 'Hatter' might have brought you to your senses. I said nothing. Kind, always, and courteous when yourself, you would not have allowed this to happen. What must happen. Your hands on my bare skin were a revelation, an awakening. When you bared my breasts to your attentions, I thought I might faint.

How can I describe what happened there? How we were utterly naked for each other stripped of clothes and vulnerability. My body ached for yours just as my mind has longed for you these past three years. I was a willing accomplice in my own debauchery, wrapping my legs around your too thin waist and urging you forward. The pain was dizzying. I felt split open and remade. The silence was shattered by our labored breath. Our bodies grew quickly slick with sweat and you leaned down and said into my ear,

"Alice. Alice. Alice." Over and over like my name was a spell. I could only grip your shoulders tighter, pull you impossibly closer. I wanted to be inside you. To share your poisoned mind and give over all my memories. I crested waves of pleasure and pain like a boat in a typhoon. Your muscles went rigid and you grew impossibly larger inside of me for a brief moment. Then we collapsed together.

I held you tight enough to leave bruises.

"Tarrant." I whispered. "I love you."

"Why is a heart like a jigsaw puzzle?" You replied into my shoulder.

And then we were ripped apart. I woke, stiff and sore and aching for you.

I will find an answer for you riddle. I will tell you when I see you again.

Love,  
Alice

 

Yarrowbone Day. Year of the Limping Raven.

Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice Alice  
Oh, mine. My own Alice.

 

5 July 1838

Dearest Tarrant,

Today I said my goodbyes to Max. He must return home to oversee his family's interests. That is what he says at least. He looks at me with a stranger's eyes these days. It seems that the changes wrought in me by that night are visible to others, not just myself. I'm terribly sad about him leaving. Though I could not marry him after what transpired, I would have remained his lifelong friend. Now, we will be only the most distant of correspondents. The two years we spent here together were the happiest of my life.

I did consider going home with him. It's tempting to believe that you and Underland are waiting for me down the right English rabbithole. I doubt it though. I think our night together was meant as something steadying. I strayed from you and I needed a reminder. It has Mirana's fingers all over it. Thank her for me if that is the case. It has filled me in a way I cannot explain. I am resolved now to complete my task here. If I were to abandon it to run after a man, no matter how much I love him, then I am no better than I was before I first met you.

There is work here to be done. I won't be alone. Zemin is growing quite tall and good with a sword if I have need of protection. His English is better than mine. The villagers have become interested in our house and now, they will visit with me. I think Max must have kept them away. It's a shame as I've spent so much time in their homes that it seems only polite to return the favor. I've hired one of the friendliest women, Liling, to cook and clean for us. We talk at night and it is a little like having my sister back. Lilang likes things done in the correct way and fusses over her husband, Duyi, like he was a delicate pet. He is, in fact, one of the tallest Chinese men I have ever seen. Yet, she is forever doing little things for him as if he were helpless baby. At first, I assumed Duyi must resent it, but he seemed to take it as his due. In return, he does little favors for her. Once, he picked a flower from my own little garden planted with English seeds and took it to her. I made to complain, but she was so delighted in the tiny gift, I bit my tongue. They are adorable.

Everyone here pronounces my name it two syllables Al-eece. It's like a new name entirely. How many chances does one person have to be reborn? I feel I've done it five or seven times already!

So you see, I have friends, my house and business to keep me from getting lonely. My feet never stop moving from dawn to dusk. Without Max I'll have to negotiate everything myself. My strength must redouble so no man thinks he can get one over on me. No need to worry over me.

I miss you.

With all my love,  
Alice

 

Blootum Day. Year of the Limping Raven.

Dearest Alice,

The anniversary of the Frabjous Day has passed once more. Melly and I had a picnic by the monument and talked about sailing the ocean. No one is sure where the ocean goes through stories have been told. It would be a very good adventure. I think though that I have had my fill of adventures.

I lost some time after our latest parting. One instant I was with you and the next the seasons had shifted. The Queen herself spent some days with me, she says, but I recall nothing. It was greatly cruel of you to say you love me, then disintegrate in my arms. The Queen says you could not have helped it. Apparently there are forces greater than us at work. As usual. I filled her shoes with baked potatoes. Have you ever seen a Queen walk on baked potatoes? She hasn't spoken to me in weeks.

Melly says that I was in a dark place. It did not feel that way. I must have been in a black mood though as my rooms are scorched with flames. Candles let to burn too long and thrown occasionally for emphasis.

Seeing your head again, my hands have remembered their true trade. I know what kind of hat to make for you. It will talk some time and great skill. What else have I to do while I wait?

For wait, I will. This time, my dear, I will wait until the moon and the sun collide and all of Underland falls to ruin.

Love,  
Tarrant

 

23 December 1838

Dearest Tarrant,

Today I danced on the porch and thought of you. There is no snow here, only a tracing of frost. I dragged my toes through it and wrote your name. This is my third Christmas away from England, the fourth since I left Underland. Yet, I feel closer to you than ever before. When I dance, I know that you dance with me. When I sing, I can hear your chanting voice. 

The Sirs were briefly back last month and then off to forge our path further inland. What a giddy visit! Townshed and Moffit remain the same and fussed so much over me, I nearly blushed! They keep saying I look remarkably improved if not at all proper. They brought me fresh letters though they could have easily let them travel down the river. Lilang laughed at them behind her hand all night. I don't think she knew them when they were last here. She cooked them a fresh chicken in spicy sauce just to watch them cough and tear up. She's terribly naughty! Her stomach grows rounder every day, my dear. Like the other women here, she refuses the idea of confinement and continues to work. Zemin, by my request, keeps an eye on her.

The letters the Sirs gave me have caused some concern in my little house. There are distant rumbles of conflict, Lord Ascot tells me, due to the increase in opium trade which the Emperor has expressly forbidden of us. He has started to execute native traffickers of the drug. I had heard a little of this on my last brief visit to Shanghai this summer past. Lord Ascot made some mention of me leaving, but I ignored it. He will not touch the English and I won't worry about it. The money I'm bringing into the company has it's own persuasive logic and we do not truck in opium. Besides with six months between correspondence, things could change utterly by his next letter. 

Margaret has lost another baby. My heart aches for her. The village women have lost several children during my tenure here and their mourning strikes me deeply. It cuts deeper knowing my own dear sister suffers similarly. Lilang's baby must survive or I will cry for months. All that potential life lost! What kind of God allows a tender and innocent child to perish? It only makes women hard and angry. I cannot reconcile myself to the teachings of Confucius nor these days, can I consider myself any kind of good Christian. I have a foot in both worlds and my heart in another. How can I stand when I feel so divided? I think perhaps that is part of the answer to your riddle.

Poor Zemin, I sneak up and hug him many times a day now for comfort. He allows it only briefly now that he is all grown and nearly a man. In concession, he calls me Mother as if he were my true and natural son. I do not know any longer if he is Absolem or not. I have told him about my adventures in Underland as bedtime stories for years. I don't think he believes me, but he does like them. Even now, tall and adult as he acts, sometimes in the dark of night he crawls to my pallet and asks for a story.

It keeps you and the others alive to me.

With all my love,  
Alice

 

Secundus Day. Year of the Folded Marsh.

Dear Alice,

Your hat is coming along well. I've had trouble finding time (sometimes it just gets lost, you know, or flushed down a well). The Queen has asked me to act as an official Ambassador of her court to the remains of Erasbeth's castle. The animals there have grown quite wild and there is talk they will appoint some kind of leader. There are storms of revolution brewing and off I go into the gale. Should I fight against revolution, having once been a revolutionary? Paradox, quandary and confusion.

I will give it all up the moment I hear of your returning.

Love,  
Tarrant

 

30 March 1939

Dearest Tarrant,

They have burned my dear home. The house I spent a year building. The house that has sheltered me while I found my way here in a strange country. Soldiers of the Emperor under orders to seize all opium from English traders accosted us on our walk home yesterday. They ransacked the house and it was with only great difficulty that I saved this journal and a few other small things. Zemin was beaten when he attempted to keep them from ripping through my clothes. His arm was broken and I do not think it will heal correctly. Medicine is in short supply.

Lilang has let us stay in her home for now. There isn't much room considering her tiny house shelters herself, Duyi, the baby and three old aunties. They all cluck over the long cut on my thigh, but I think it will heal well and match the scars on my arm. I sustained it running into the house, beating off flames to get Zemin's sword. It is his prize possession and we will need it now more than ever.

It will take some time given the distance between our two countries, but I can see now that a war is coming. I must not be here when it happens. Is that cowardly of me? They have taken my home from me, nearly all my work has gone up in smoke. I did not even manage to save my more scientific journal. I can only hope that the letters I have sent to my family and friends have remained intact that I might write my papers from them and memory. 

As soon as the soldiers leave and Zemin is healed, we are going to take a boat to Shanghai. Then to Hong Kong and out to England. 

The heart has gone out of me. I cannot imagine what I will do what I return home. All my careful work in this small village will not be enough to counter the feelings that run through the country as a whole. It is likely I will never return to this country, never speak a word of Chinese to a native speaker ever again. All the plants Townshed identified, the animals Moffit observed and Max's beautiful maps will be for naught. Oh, doubtless at some point peace will be made, but it might be years! Oh, the loss is to heavy for me now.

What would you say to me in this moment? I cannot imagine. Something harsh and true and heartening.

With all my love,  
Alice

 

Trembltous Day. Year of the Folded Marsh.

Dear Alice,

The Animal Revolt is a farce. Their organization is lamentable, they have no code phrases and sometimes they give up for whole days at a time to have lawn bowling tournaments. As Ambassador I expected some resistance, instead I've been treated quite well all things considered. The old throne room has been divided up into large apartments. I have the one just below where the throne once sat. I must say it's delightfully freeing to piss out the window onto the hedge trimmed like the Red Queen's head.

I spend most of my days trying to convince people to listen to me. It rather reminds me of when I owned a shop and ladies were forever choosing the least flattering colors for their heads. Some of the animals do me the kindness of listening and then they are off to collect shiny things. They're building a statue of you, I think, cobbled together in tin foil and buttons. You list to the left and they've only done up to the hem of your dress.

They like the idea of Mirena, but cannot reconcile themselves to being ruled again. The toads are bucking to have a president and hold elections. The flamingos keep interrupting their meetings to go on long flights with the monkeys on their backs. If they would include me, I think might enjoy it all a great deal. Instead, I sit on the perimeter and nod occasionally, then wander the grounds when they leave.

Alice, dear, I think I am losing my madness. Or it has lost me. Or maybe it is something else altogether.

Why is a heart like a jigsaw puzzle? 

Love,  
Tarrant

 

10 June 1839

Dear Tarrant,

Tomorrow we will round the Cape of Good Hope. The waters are calm and the sailors experienced. They have encouraged me to stay below decks in case of a storm. I think I shall sneak up later and have a look.

How fickle the human heart! Only a handful of days ago I felt that mine was breaking and now I feel giddy again with adventure. Two months ago, we took a long boat ride to Shanghai, daring only to sail at night in a borrowed village boat lest we be discovered. The Sirs were in Shanghai as was nearly every English person I have met here in China. The ships were blockaded and for a while, it seemed as though we were no better off than we had been back on the Yangtze. Soon though, the Emperor relented. It is not in his best interest to keep English civilians against their will, even for a short time.

The boat that we chose, The Nautilus, to take us home did provide my long awaited tour of Africa. We will stop at several ports and Townshed has been kind enough to offer me escort. Once, I would have balked at the idea of needing a companion, but I'm weary of talking to myself. Not that I am wholly alone. When we made plans to leave, I had assumed that Zemin would wish to remain behind. His skills with English would set him up for a fine career in Shanghai, especially on the eve of war. Instead, he has chosen to see England and to remain with me. I was and am very touched and pleased. I have long since given up the childish fancy that he stands as this world's Absolem. He is a young man with thoughts and feelings all his own. He does not exist for my pleasure or assurance.

Unfortunately, his great loyalty to a mad woman who dreamed him a caterpillar does not assuage my loneliness. Zemin is a child still and I do not have childish things on my mind. My thoughts bend to my future.

With all my love,  
Alice

 

12 June 1839

Dear Tarrant,

It is a curious thing, but as each day passes my sorrow lifts and my eyes clear. Something calls me home, drawing me in. Will I find you there, waiting on the shore? Is it merely the idea that all these years later that England is home? 

I cannot fathom it. My blood calls out for home. Not the one left behind, but the one unfolding before me.

With all my love,  
Alice

 

13 June 1839

Dear Tarrant,

Today, I saw Sierra Leone. Six years ago, all the African slaves here were freed by order of the Crown. Townshed walked me through the market though I could tell he was displeased with the whole affair. He would have insisted I wore a dress, but the only clothing I have to my name now are my two Chinese suits and a beautiful Japanese kimono that I traded for during my stay in Shanghai. I wore the kimono and that seemed to suit well enough. We toured the market. They speak a language called Krio here. I learned to say hello 'Kushe' and my name is Alice 'Mi nem Alice'. English laces Krio liberally and makes it easier to learn.

The ship will stop here a week to take on fresh supplies. I intend to learn as much Krio as I can. There's a cricket game in a large open field tomorrow. I think I can slip away from the Sirs and get my fill of the game. I haven't seen a cricket game in ages! Everyone here stares at me, just as they did in the beginning in China, but they aren't so reserved. Here they ask me a hundred questions and touch my hair and clothes. One woman offered me a large swath of cloth to wear as they do here. It's a vibrant orange and I accepted it because I could not stop myself! I had nothing on hand to trade her. Perhaps I can find her tomorrow and give her a bit of black gunpowder tea that I have hidden away.

There is a great temptation for me to make this another port of call. It's a lush country and my father spent time here when he was my age. It was here that he gained some of his wild ideas. Lingering holds its appeal, but so does returning home. Maybe one day....

With all my love,  
Alice

 

Thuuud Day. Year of the Folded Marshes.

 

Dear Alice,

There's a new law in Underland. After surviving three attempted beheadings, one can no longer face the chopping block. I am pleased to admit that I am the cause of this edict. Surviving is one of my best skills and it was a particularly nasty situation. One of the flamingos decided that I was attempting an insurrection. Of course, I was doing no such things. There's no government there to speak of to insurrect against! I was only trying to get some agreement on a treaty between the two castles.

Having spent so much time under the Red Queen's rule has made the lot of them blood thirsty. Soon it was all off with his head! Luckily they didn't have anything at the ready and they locked me in the Queen's old room while they made preparations. I was able to escape by jumping into the moat, using a bed sheet as a sort of parachute. I was very fortunate. I only broke one leg and was able to hop along ably until Binny found me and fetched a horse to carry me home. Turns out the outrageous pup had been waiting for my return for over a week. I hadn't realized I'd overstayed that long.

Being laid up is frightfully boring, I don't know why I bother so often. At least this time, Melly does not need to act as my scribe. She has all sorts of notions about how letters should be written and it includes a lot of underlining. Instead, I'm using some of the Queen's paper (it smells rank which is why I usually stick to sheep. I believe she might store it in a pickled finger jar or something).

It's odd. I've dreamed of you lately. I usually don't remember my dreams or at least, they don't seem to remember me. Perhaps if I met them on the road I could introduce myself...well. In any case, there you are and here you aren't. I hope those two are soon reversed.

Love,  
Tarrant

 

1 August 1839

Dear Tarrant,

I apologize for my rough handwriting. The carriage I've hired is taking rockier roads than I remember. We made land this week past and parted with the Sirs only yesterday in London. After so long away, I expected to feel like a foreigner on those dear filthy streets. Instead, I was home again. I walked to Westminster Abby and sat in one of the pews for a long time. The first church I have set foot in since I departed three years ago. If you have to start some place, start at the best I say! It was as lovely as ever and made me think of Father. He loved London and all it's airs, especially Westminster. I wonder now if he was an atheist. I can imagine that. Perhaps not though. Maybe, like me, having seen so many things one can no longer afford not to believe nor truly be faithful. I feel as though I have seen the sublime and the terrible and knowing each cannot reconcile them. 

Zemin stayed outside. We have talked about religion a few times and he has politely declined Christianity as if it were a distasteful dish at dinner. 

Upon entering English soil, the Sirs were quite persistent that I should dress accordingly. Now able to draw on my considerable earned funds, I indulged them to a point. Having more than two changes of clothing does relieve one’s mind a bit. Of course, I left off many of the trappings they would see fit to wrap me in. Not to mention my skin remains dark from my time out in the sun without a proper lady's hat. Ah well, I'm sure mother and Margaret will rejoice in having plenty of things to scold me for.

I'm terribly happy to see them again. And also afraid. What if I'm not the person they remember? I feel changed. I read my earlier letters to you and I cannot find myself in them. This morning I squinted into the mirror, searching my eyes for something. Who am I now? And what will I do with that? I had forgotten your talk about my muchness until I reread those letters. I think, perhaps, I have too much muchness now. There's little left of the rest of me. No soft edges of any kind. I have no room. Everything is filled with the greedy throbbing pulse for more. More adventure, more colour, more thought, more love, more you, more me. I want.

I wake now to worlds of want and no clear means of fulfilling it. I cannot travel abroad again so quickly. I do not know how to find Underland and my way back to you. England is home, deliriously the same. I am hemmed in and freed.

Perhaps I will feel better for seeing the manor again. Maybe I can fill some of my time looking for rabbit holes.

With all my love,  
Alice 

 

Blootum Day. Year of the Folded Marshes.

Dear Alice,

Another Frabjous Day Anniversary has passed us by. There was a nice celebration, a feast around the tea table. The Queen made scones that were rather hard and green, but we all ate them anyway and burped rainbow bubbles the rest of the afternoon.

My stars and buttons, dear girl. Whatever is keeping you? Or are your promises all turned to mush out there? Where is your brain, girl?

Love,  
Tarrant

 

12 September 1839

Dear Tarrant,

I have not had time to write in this book since my return home. I have spent every hour with mother, Margaret and my sweet nephew, Richard. Mother is ageing gracefully and to his credit, Lowell is taking excellent care of the manor and surrounding property. I have given the family much of the money I have made. Some of it will be invested for Richard's future, the rest will go to maintaining my mother and myself, so as not to be a burden on the young family. 

Mother will hardly let me out of my sight, seeming convinced that I will disappear if I so much as leave the grounds of the manor. After three years of having my own way about things, it is extremely frustrating. Yet, it is wonderful to be with her again. To talk to her about my thoughts and have someone tender to listen to them. And so I must confess, that I have told her about you. Not in specifics, of course. I told her only that while I was still in England I met a man that I very much liked. That we have not spoken since that time, but that I still think on him. I explained that I do not know how to reach him.

I'm not sure what she makes of all of it. But it is nice to have someone stroke my forehead and say that it will work out somehow. I've searched for rabbit holes whenever I think I can sneak from her side and peered into every mirror in the house. So far, I have not discovered anything of use. If not for mother, I think I might despair.

Margaret thinks that I should get out into society. She is pushing to have me on some committee or another all the time and drags me off to pay calls all day to people I barely know. Between her and mother, I'm not sure how I even sleep! The only highlight has been the day we stopped at the Ascot's home. Lord Ascot and I have met several times since my return, of course, but it is the first time that I saw Lady Ascot. She was nearly silent for the whole of her visit. Not because she wished to be though! Her daughter-in-law, remember the miller's girl that Hamish ran away with? Her name is Anna, talks a blue streak. She won't let anyone get a word in edgewise and bosses Hamish around like a lap dog. I wasn't sure why Lady Ascot was holding her tongue or even why she would have allowed her son and his bride back into the family.

Until Anna mentioned that she was expecting a third child! I've done the math and considering that Hamish ran away with her only a year and a half ago...well. The blood drained out of Lady Ascot's face when she mentioned it. It's hard to believe it of Hamish. I expected after his great rebellion he'd be different, but he remains ever the same. It made me grateful it was meant only to be a short visit. I bear no love for Lady Ascot, but now I pity her a little. She is stuck with a woman that will not kowtow to her and must remind her at every moment of how her son betrayed her. I hope that she can recover from this blow.

Oh, and poor Zemin. Mother and Margeret are fond of him, but they see him as some sort of exotic souvenir that I've brought back with me. He is clucked and fussed over, not conversed with. He's taken to practicing with his sword in the garden. I fear that allowing him to come home with me was a grave mistake. I must make sure that he has a future here or what will become of him? I have asked mother about getting tutors in and I might as well have been speaking in tongues. Still, I have my own capital now. I'll find a way.

I look for you everywhere.

All my love,  
Alice

 

Intrebid Day. Year of the Folded Marshes.

Dear Alice,

Every moment of every day, I feel you pressed in my arms, hear your voice in my ear. My mouth runs wet tasting you in the air. Are you close? Or have my senses, in your long absence, invented you?

Love,  
Tarrant 

 

24 October 1939

Dearest Tarrant,

At last! I have seen a likely opening and I thought only yesterday that I saw a white rabbit lingering nearby. I have told my mother that I must travel to Scotland for a few days to settle some business there. It is likely I shall never come home again, but I want to spare her at least a few days of worry. It will also explain why I am packing up my smaller trunk full of clothes. I have also tucked away many of the dear little things I cannot leave without.

If I am wrong and the rabbit hole is not an entrance to Underland, then I think I really will go to Scotland. I need a change and I itch to travel again. 

If I am right, then I may soon hold you close to me again. 

With all my love,  
Alice

 

**26 April 1918  
Downey Apartments. Portobello Road, London.**

Their letters fanned across my desk were easy to shuffled together. I could piece their lives apart into a semblance of order. The order that I will leave them in when I part from them. It's difficult to imagine a love that lasts as theirs did, stretched, but never thinned by time, distance and mental disorder.

If she were alive today, she would be nearly 100 years old. He would be impossibly older. I was never sure of his age in any case, a child one moment and as old as Solomon the next. In both cases, the world is a poorer shape for their loss. Perhaps though, I am more than a little biased. Only that they were both full of bravery and curiosity, a trait that I find sorely lacking now. Even my own wanderlust pales in comparison to the sweeping adventures they both undertook. They found romance in revolution, passion in foreign countries and a consuming love in each other.

And trust me, my dear reader (whoever you are), it was consuming. Like a fire that tears through a forest whose dry wood encourages its own demise. These letters. Hers, handwriting an elegant gloss across paper, spilling tender confessions. His, a spiky assault on skin, filled with half-truths and longing. I have thought about them sitting in their glossy box on her mantle. At odd times in faraway places, I would daydream about taking the box down and devouring the contents. They belong to me (who else?), but I feel as though I have violated some trust by reading their contents. Yet... They are dead. I live and their lives belong to me now. The way the lives of the dead always belong to the living. 

There remains one object, their epilogue. Dear Zemin's few fragile pages in his neat script. I can tell that Moffit never bothered to open it. He must have hoped that some scholar would come and translate it into a titillating novel. It was a near thing. Instead, my hands fold open the cover and my pen scribbling the translation.

**An Account of my Time in Underland by Zemin Kingsleigh**

It was September when I followed Mother down a hole in the ground. Four years before, a long ago September, she chose me from the crowd at the dock. Many times she has asked me about my life before I met her. I remember nothing. Blurry smears of sleeping where I could and stealing food. I assume, as did she, that my mother bore me of a European sailor and tossed me aside. No one chose to have me until Alice.

She chose me, fed me, guarded me and taught me. In all things, she is motherly to me though I know she is far too young to have borne a child my age. How could I not follow her wherever she went? There was nothing for me in the land of my birth. Nothing for me in the strangled culture that has grown too confining for her. Why wouldn't I take the risk of entering a land I know only from stories?

When I saw her carrying a bulging pack on her back, I followed. When she jumped down the hole, so did I.

And that is how I came to be here, all these many years later, writing this for you. A person should know where they came from. Who they came from. So you will, if you desire. I can only tell you what I know.

We fell down the hole for a long time, passing all manner of strange objects. We landed hard on the ground in a small room.

"Zemin!" Alice cried, pulling me into a tight hug. "Why did you follow me?"

"I always follow you." I reminded her, trying to squirm away. "Where are we?"

"Underland." She smiled,taking up a key.

"But those were just stories." I said as she set a small glass vial on the floor.

"Stories come from somewhere. Here, eat this."

She wore her bright red kimono and to my shock, removed it and shoved the bundle out the door. I had seen her undress many times, but never so frankly and during the day.

"You'll want to do the same. You'll be too small for them soon."

Hesitantly, I followed her directions. Increasingly those last few months before our journey, her 'madness' had become less a curious affectation and more a genuine fever that burned at her. It turned her eyes glassy and bright, her speech jagged and passing strange.

"Drink this. Not to much, just a sip!"

I did. I need not describe what followed. We shrank, we got outside and ate our cake. Soon we were dressed and just the right size again. I cannot imagine how long it took her to figure out the first time.

"It's important that I turn up the right size." She smiled and shouldered the travel bag that had also made it through the tiny door. "Far less confusion. Shall we?"

Naturally, I was awed by Underland as it unfolded in front of us. Elsewhere perhaps, I would extoll its many virtues, but not here. You after all, grew here as naturally as a dryad and have breathed in the spiced air from the moment you drew breath. So I will say only that we followed the road into the woods. Mother pointed out this or that curiosity, reminding me of the stories she had told me over the years. I saw the mushroom where Absolem sat, the site where the Tweedles were snatched and the path she had walked down, wounded and alone.

"The tea party is over the rise." She said quietly, her pace slowing as the wooded path started to thin. When we crested the hill, there was only an old battered windmill. "Oh, I was sure it was here!"

"They may have moved it." I reminded her, trying to ignore my growling belly. "Or not needed it anymore."

"Right." She nodded briskly. "You're right, of course. I've no idea how many years have passed. We'll head toward the White Queen's castle. We're bound to meet someone on the road."

"Is it a long walk?"

"Oh." She looked out over the barren spot where her tea party should have been. "Probably. I have a bit of bread and cheese in my bag. Let's eat before we press on."

I was troubled by her vagueness and searched the horizon for any sign of life as we ate. There were insects and birds, even a few that were a mixture of the two, but not a one was inclined to give us a word of advice. When we set off, the sun was beginning to sink along with my heart. The path led us only through more empty fields and dark, brooding forests.

"It's so peaceful." Mother murmured as we passed through a field of tall grasses. "It's hard to believe it's the same country."

"It's empty." I said before I could think.

"Not empty!" She protested. "Look!"

And finally, looking to the horizon she pointed to, I could see the first time outlines of the gleaming castle. Our tired pace renewed, we made good time. Against the night sky, the castle gleamed like a pearl. Signs of life began to appear:the path turned into a road with neat paving stones unmarred by weeds; fields were tended in neat rows and sap buckets were accepting the offerings of the delicate trees.

"Did you hear that?" Mother paused in the road and I nearly toppled her over, so intent was I on reaching our destination.

"Hear what?" I asked.

"Voices." She veered off the road, walking quickly through the trees. My legs and feet burned as I rushed to keep up with her. I began to hear voices as well, raucous and laughing. The lean woods thinned before us and finally, spat us out into a clearing.

The tea party, for there was no mistaking it from her descriptions, roared away in front of us. The laughter I'd heard was spewing from the March Hare's mouth, his ears twitching with mirth as he pointed at the dormouse. Melly was skating blithely on top of an over iced cake, occasionally yelling invective at the Hare. And Hatter seated like a prince at the head of the table, one leg thrown of the arm of his chair, sipping tea straight from the pot. He pulled a scone from his pocket and set it rocketing towards the cake. Melly ducked it neatly and it continued to whiz through the air sailing over Mother's head as she continued her headlong charge. I thought the sight of the table should have at least slowed her.

Instead she launched herself upwards, landing on the table and sending cups flying in every direction. 

"Alice!" Cried Melly, falling off her cake and landing in broken cup.

The Hatter threw his tea pot over his shoulder and leapt to his feet. His eyes glistened yellow and his voice was a dangerous burr,

"She is not here, you fool." He hissed at Melly.

"Tarrant!" Mother snapped. His head flew up and his eyes pulsed green.

"Alice?" He stepped up onto the table while the Hare flew around trying to shove things out of his way. "Alice!"

He embraced her practically before he reached her. She returned his fierce embraced, resting her head on his shoulder. I could not see a light shine between them nor hear the words they whispered fiercely between them.

Instead I saw him pull from the waistcoat that would provide all the sweetmeats and surprises of your youth, the most marvelous hat. How simple it was with it’s jaunty brim and one splendid white feather. He set it upon her head, pulling it down to shadow over one eye.

“Fedora.” He smiled, bending down to kiss the tip of her nose, the arch of her cheekbones and at last her lips.

“Because it can always be put back together.” She murmured. “That is how a heart is like a jigsaw puzzle.”

What should I tell you of the months, the years, the life that followed? I met the White Queen, who favored me with a wide clean smile and a flute made of a bone. I spoke with flowers, insects and the Cheshire Cat. I walked a winding path, following behind Mother and Tarrant, watching as they walked so closely together that they frequently stepped on each other’s toes.

But all could not last as wild and free forever. Mother one day walked a little slower, looked a little dreamier. Tarrant took in her state and as if it were inevitable as the sun rising, built us a house. It was not the home we had left behind in China or the family manse in London. He built it directly in the side of a hill with every window a new shape. In the garden, Mother planted roses which hummed quietly as she walked between them, growing heavier and heavier. 

The day you were born, the roses sang. Tarrant danced. Your Mother laughed. And you dear child, born a true adventurer, watched it all.

The rest of the story you know, for you were there. Growing up among us, at once of Underland and of London. Your eyes were your mother’s, your hair your father’s and everything else wholly your own.

And I watched you because I should at first with you so small and the world so large, then out of avuncular affection, then out of concern when Underland proved too small to you. Then because like Mother when we first met, I could imagine following no other. When we all came to London, more a circus than a traveling party, I knew you were meant for more than the finishing at Oxford Mother intended for you. So must have she as she sent me with you along with more baggage than any college bound boy required.

That the intrepid explorer you became should also be the person I held most beloved in my unnaturally long life came as a surprise to me. That you should return my affections has enriched every day in my life.

Dear boy, I imagine you now with one hand in your hair and a smile on your face as you remember me. Please smile, for that is how I have always best loved you.

This folio I tuck among Mother and Tarrant’s letters before we leave on what may be my last journey. Even now I hear you packing and yelling gleefully to Mother about the in roads you intend to make in India. Tarrant paces the halls, looking for some odd or end to tuck amid your clothes to remind you of him as if you need such trinkets.

The three of you, natives of Underland each in your own way, you all three shine with life. But my dearest, I feel an ache in my bones and a clouding in my eyes. I may never see this home again nor walk the halls of the White Queen’s castle.

So I want you to know that our story lies encased with your parents’, a single box containing love that crossed through worlds. 

You, youngest and most beautiful, will survive us all. I hope this will sustain you, beloved. When you grow tired and slow, I hope too that you will bring this box with you home to Underland to bury in Mother’s rose garden. Who knows what might grow there?

I love you, Jig Hightopp-Kingsleigh, and that has been my life’s greatest adventure.


End file.
